


Change of Control

by editorbit



Series: Jerome & Jeremiah Character Studies(?) [3]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Gen, Jeremiah’s a little frustrated, Jerome’s just doing some yoga, Kind of AU, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-11-23 00:28:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20883167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/editorbit/pseuds/editorbit
Summary: Jerome thinks he’s so clever, doesn’t he? As if Jeremiah hasn’t foreseen this.





	Change of Control

Jeremiah sees them on his screens, screen after screen, and he follows their every move. He knows the two well. He’s seen them on the news, in the papers, heard the words of them on the streets. Jervis Tetch and Jonathan Crane. Jerome’s new partners in crime. The Legion of Horribles they call themselves. They aren’t exactly wrong, quite the opposite, but, really Jerome? Is this the best he can do? 

Jerome thinks he’s so clever, doesn’t he? As if Jeremiah hasn’t foreseen this. As if he’d just been sitting here in this maze, all naive and oblivious, all the while Jerome’s criminal friends were running around in his backyard. Jerome has looked for him and found him. Jeremiah knew. He’d watched the news. He’d read the newspapers. He knew they were coming for him, had known for a long time, and now that they were finally here, long overdue, he was ready. 

He was tired of living in fear, worried his big bad brother was going to come for him, tired of constantly looking over his shoulder. He was ready to finally face his fears and get the upper hand. 

Every entrance into his maze is locked and shut. If they want to come in, they are welcome to try. And if they just so happen to succeed, they will be met with the maze. It’ll take them days to find him, not to mention Jerome.  
Speaking of Jerome. He’s been looking a little bit more smug than usual as of late. A knowing grin here and there, a glance thrown at the door, a spring in his step as he strolled through the room. They hadn’t gone unnoticed. Through the eyes of Jeremiah Valeska, Jerome was an open book. Getting away with things just wasn’t Jerome’s style it seemed like. Because where was the fun in that? Why get away with something, when you can be caught instead, thrown into Arkham, maybe even die?

Jeremiah scoffs. Jerome, die? He’s starting to think Jerome can escape death as well. A knife to the throat and Jerome’s back the next day, as good as new. Not even death can stop his brother now. And does that scare him? Perhaps. But Jerome doesn’t have to die. Jeremiah will keep him, safely locked away and out of anyone’s reach. If there’s anyone who can keep their grip on his brother, and never let him wiggle his way out, it would be him. It will be him.

Jerome’s doing yoga. He has been doing that for a while now, ever since he’d turned the screen on. James Gordon and his partner had been here and somehow a button had been pressed and right there on the screen had his brother been. Like he knew someone was watching, Jerome had proceeded to wave. If it had been a coincidence or if his brother had actually known someone was watching, he doesn’t know. But the two had been dealt with. They’d take Jerome away, send him to Arkham again. Arkham couldn’t hold Jerome. A week later he’d be a free man again, followed by a new gang of criminals with a new cheesy name. 

Jeremiah watches Jerome, finally taking his eyes off the two outside. He sent Ecco a little while ago to deal with them, to keep them away. He hadn’t failed to inform her of their two visitors either. He’d told her all about them, what they could do if they got the chance. He trusted she wouldn’t mess up.  
Jerome’s yoga session eventually comes to an end and up he gets. The smug smile’s back as he eyes the camera. Jeremiah knows what’s coming.

"I hope you’re not feeling lonely over there, brother dear." Leaving his - presumably stolen - coat behind, Jerome strolls right over to, for the nth time, shove his face into the camera. Jeremiah sits cross-armed in his chair, looking at him through furrowed eyebrows. He ignores the feeling of his glasses ever so slowly glide down his nose until they’re seated just too far down. He wants to push them back, but doesn’t, like Jerome’s going to see him break his stance and feel like he’s managed to get to him. Because he hasn’t. 

"How about you unlock the door, and we’ll talk it out?" Jeremiah scoffs, leaning back in his seat and crossing his legs. As if he’d ever believe that that’s what they’d be doing if he ever opens that door. "My arms are open, as is my heart." Jeremiah can’t help but laugh. How stupid does Jerome think he is?  
Jerome emphasises his words by stepping back, opening his arms and smiling at him as if he’s really waiting for Jeremiah to jump out of his seat and run in there for a hug from that... Psycho.  
Jeremiah can’t remember the two having ever hugged, not even when they were little. Jerome didn’t hug. He pushed, hit and not to mention laughed. There wasn’t a cell in Jerome’s body that ever resorted to hugs, nor had there ever been one. 

Hugging Jerome seems like such an alien concept to him. He’s never even thought about it until now, the thought never crossing his mind. Jeremiah can’t help but let his thoughts wander. What would it feel like? First of all, he needs to exclude any sort of weapon, as a hug from Jerome would most likely end up with someone getting stabbed - Jeremiah most likely. Jerome isn’t anything remotely related to gentle. He’d hold him tight, to the point Jeremiah would have trouble breathing, hug him close to his chest and never let go. Had circumstances been different, the possibility of this ever happening might have been very little, but maybe, just maybe, existing.

Jeremiah shouldn’t be feeling this odd emotion, a strange concoction of disappointment and distaste, but he is. 

Jerome lets his arms fall to the side and Jeremiah finally shakes the feeling away. "Wouldn’t some company be nice?" Jerome says, looking all smug again. Jeremiah itches to just press that button, turn on the microphone and tell that smug, son of a bitch - sorry, mother - his little escape plan has failed. Jeremiah’s gaze falls to the button in question. It couldn’t hurt, could it? Jerome wasn’t the one with the hypnotising powers or whatever one might call it, was he? 

He gathers his courage, breathes in deeply through his nose and presses the button. The look on Jerome’s face as he realises he no longer has the upper hand is going to be priceless. There’s a little smug grin on Jeremiah’s face now. He’s waited for this moment for a while, months in fact. Time to make the most of it.

Jerome must notice the sound of the speaker turning on, an almost inaudible little click, because his body twitches just a little, glove covered fingers pressing slightly harder into the sides of his thighs and eyes flickering to the right. Jeremiah catches him off guard. A wave of satisfaction runs through him at the realisation.  
Jeremiah’s own, matching eyes move to the screen above Jerome’s. He meets his brother’s eyes again a moment later, the corners of his lips twitching. "I’m afraid your stay might end up a bit longer than you expected," he says, voice calm and collected. He searches his brother’s face for a reaction. For a second he’s thinking Jerome might not have understood and he regrets his choice of words. He should have been more bold, shouldn’t he? Get the point across immediately, show him who’s the boss, show him Jeremiah’s not to be messed with. 

Jerome laughs. 

Jeremiah’s not surprised. He’d expected no less from him, though Jerome was yet to show any signs of disappointment - his ultimate goal. He stays silent, letting Jerome finish. He doesn’t risk speaking again and having Jerome not hearing him, having to repeat himself and stumbling over his words as this confidence boost he’s having starts lacking. 

"Sent your assistant to kill them, did ya?" He’s mocking him. "Too scared to do it yourself? You disappoint me, brother." Jerome shakes his head. He frowns, and for all the wrong reasons. He’s supposed to be upset. His friends are gone. Dealt with. Done. Perhaps not dead, like Jerome thinks - unlike his brother, he’s no murderer - but Jeremiah is not about to tell him otherwise. He’s lost. He’s stuck. He’s locked up. Alone. And he’s perfectly fine with it. 

Jerome is supposed to be disappointed. He’s supposed to frown, fidget, pace around the room as he’s realised his grand scheme has failed and that he’s now stuck. Yet, Jeremiah’s the disappointed one. He’s the one frowning, fidgeting with his already perfectly straight tie and pacing around the room, trying to figure out what to say now. One wrong move and Jerome will have the upper hand, or at least think so, have him stumbling over his words, stuttering in an attempt to intimidate and show dominance. 

Jerome’s watching him, or rather the camera, but it certainly feels as if it’s him he’s watching. Passing by the desk he pushes one of the lamps to cover the screen, to get those eyes off of him. He stops by his workbench, back to the screens and takes a deep breath. He’s worked himself up and getting upset does not help against Jerome. It just makes it worse.  
Pushing himself away from the desk, he proceeds to turn and return to his seat. The lamp is picked up and gently placed down where it had previously been standing. Jerome is resting against the wall now, coat back on. A smug smile is painted on his face and Jeremiah has to look away to collect himself again. 

"Does it matter? They’re still dead," Jeremiah says. Jerome won’t be seeing those two again anyway, dead or not. He turns away to clear his throat, sound muffled by the inside of his elbow. There’s a dramatic pause.

End this before he tries anything - and succeeds, he thinks to himself. "You better get comfortable, Jerome. You won’t be leaving anytime soon." There’s a click and the microphone’s turned off. He lets his gaze fall on Jerome again, and is met with another laugh. Jeremiah resists the urge to knock the lamp over, turn the microphone back on and tell his brother to just shut it, get off his high horse and admit he’s lost. He resorts to taking his glasses off, squeezing the bridge of his nose as he tries to clear his head. Don’t sink down to Jerome’s level. He’s better than that. 

"When’s it dinnertime?" Jerome’s smug expression never seems to fade. Jeremiah turns the screen off. Next time he sees Ecco, he sends her to clean up the broken lamp on the floor. He’s busy, he explains when she asks.

It doesn’t seem like words are what will wipe that smile off of his brother’s face.


End file.
